


The Speakeasy

by liionne



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Prohibition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:25:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liionne/pseuds/liionne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Grantaire are part of the illegal alcohol trade, Musichetta and Cosette are their entertainers, and Javert tries to fuck things up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Speakeasy

"See you got yourself a new bouncer. He looks like a tough one, Enj." Combeferre grinned over the bar late one saturday night, when the club was singing and the smell of tabacco smoke was giving the air a hazy, thick quality. The room was dark, because bright lights would attract unwanted attention, but the flashy dresses of the girls on the stage still managed to glitter and shine, and catch the eye of every man in the room.

At the table in the corner by the side of the stage sat the regularls, the ones who always came and always sat in the same spot, who had the same drinks and the same clothes and ended up taking home the same dancers of an evening. Feuilly, Marius, Jehan, Joly and Bossuet sat around the table, laughing and flirting with any girl who came near enough.  When Musichetta was working, or Grantaire, Enjolras usually sat with them too, as did Combeferre. But for some reason, Combeferre was sat by the bar. Most likely, he had come over to get another round in, and was simly delayed or distracted.

"Yeah," Enjolras nodded, bright eyes flitting to the guard now stood by the door. "He's built like a brick outhouse, we'll  
not have any bust ins this time."

Just as he spoke the wrds, the guard looked through the peephole and then took a few steps towards the bar, behind which enjolras was stood, a towel thrown over his shoulder, dampening the fine silk of his waist coat. "A Mr. Courfeyrac at the door, sir." he said.

Enjolras grinned. "Let him in, Bahorel. But when I give the word, boot him out." Bahorel was already walking back to the door. "He's the life and soul of the party, but he's a trouble maker."

Bahorel gave a solemn nod, and opened the door. Courfeyrac burst in with a brown paper bag and a trench coat, which he quickly shrugged out of and hung by the door. He placed his hat on the bar, along with the paper bag.

"Look what I bought," He grinned, producing the bottle of whisky triumphantly.

"You realise we have 10 bottles of these out back, right?" Enjolras asked, inspecting the bottle with a titled head and bored eyes.

"Yeah, but you're missing my point." Courfeyrac grinned. "I bought it. On the street."

"So?" Combeferre asked.

"Well, that's it, isn't?" Courfeyrac grinned. "Cops are getting lazy. Prohibition's going down the pan. No one cares anymore. There was a cop right over the street when I was buying it, never said a word."

"He didn't follow you here, did he?" Enjolras looked up suddenly.

"No, no," Courfeyrac shook his head. "Went in the opposite direction, I checked before I walked away."

"Well then," Enjolras grinned, putting the bottle under the counter and handing a few notes to Courfeyrac. "I think we better celebrate."

"Enjolras!" The almost delerious sounding cry came from Musichetta, as she marched over to the counter with Cosette trailing behind her. She was breathless, most likely from the dancing, and her dress swayed as she walked. The feather on her headband was skewiff, but she managed to pull it off. "Two French 75s with your finest gin, and fill them to the brim!" She grinned, leaning against the bar as Cosette finally caught up.

"Well, hello, ladies." Courfeyrac smiled, his voice filling with charm. "Been dancing again?"

"It pays." Musichetta shrugged with a grin.

"And it's fun." Cosette nodded.

The three laughed. "Well you better catch your breath," Courfeyrac said, "Because I missed your dancing just now, so  you're going to have to give me the pleasure of the show all over again."

"Courf," Enjolras warned with a smirk, as he slid the drinks over the bar to the girls. "I don't think Bossuet, Joly and Marius would do you any favours for flirting with their girlfriends. And what would ehan think, huh?" He raised his eyebrows in a smirk.

"Jehan wouldn't care." Courfeyrac turned when he heard shouts of his name, coming from the table by the stage. He shook his head to their gestures of invitation. "And anyways, with girls as pretty as these, how could I help myself?" Courfeyrac grinned, and Cosette blushed.

Whooping had begun, a sign that the girls had to get back and do some entertaining, along with the other three or four girls that made up their group. They disappeared into the fog of cigarette smoke, and were replaced by the men from the table in corner. Enjolras new what was coming. "Grantaire?" He called. The barman at the end of the bar with a woman in his lap looked up. "Fetch me some more whisky, please."

"Sure thing, boss." Grantaire nodded, mumbled some comment about how he would be back in a moment to the flapper he had been sat with, and then ran out back to the storage room.

"So how's it going, gents?" Enjolras asked, returning to the men in front of him.

"Nothing," Joly answered.

"Except the fact that I haven't had a drink in over ten minutes," Feuilly added. "Which is a crime! An absolute crime!"

"No, the crime is _having_ a drink every ten minutes." Combeferre grinned.

"Well, that's what the cops would have you believe." Enjolras smirked.

Bossuet laughed. "Six gin and tonics, I believe, Enjolras." He ordered, quite politely.

"Nu-uh," Courfyrac shook his head. "Five gin and cocktails, and a sidecar." The group looked at him questioningly. "I'm  feeling fruity." He continued.

Enjolras poured the drinks, and returned the bottle under the counter. Just as he did, Bahorel turned away from the door.

"A police officer at the door, sir. Inspector Javert." He said.

"Shit," Enjolras murmured. "Just a moment, Bahorel. I'll tell you when."

Bahorel nodded, and returned to his post. "Hold on a moment, Inspector," He said through the door. "I'll just find the key."

As he pretended to fumble for the key Enjolras pulled a lever that dropped the shelves and emptied all of the bottles ofdrink into certain chutes, which either carried them out to the sewer beneath the city or the storage room where Grantaire  would still be, no doubt. The more expensive ones were kept, whilst the cheaper stuff was thrown into the garbage. The music was halted immediately, which prompted the company in the club to quickly put their drinks in the basket Courfeyrac was now running around with. He took it down to the storage room, placed it on the floor, and told Grantaire to "leave the whiskey, the pigs are here". Grantaire nodded, and shut the storage as he had done every day for the past year. It was concealed, the gaps in the wall being so tiny that no one would ever notice them, not even if they were looking for them. With the drink properly disposed of, Enjolras nodded to Bahorel.

"Ah, here we are." He said in a staged tone of discovery, and then unlocked the door, allowing Inspector Javert and a few of his colleagues to enter.

"I am Inspector Javert," He said, as he stood just within the doorway of the room. "Who runs this establishment."

"That'd be me, Inspector." Enjolras held up a hand, and put the toewl over his shoulder onto the bar. "What's the matter?"

"We've had calls suggesting that this place is selling illegal alcohol, and we wish to make an inspection." He said.

Enjolras smiled. "Feel free, Inspector. We have nothing to hide here."

Enjolras took him on a tour of the club; the main bar, where they stood and where the entrance led to, and then the small corridor that led to the toilets and upstairs, which led to Enjolras's apartment. Not a drop was found, not a bottle, and as they stood by the entrance, the music having quietly resumed with Musichetta singing lowly, Javert gave a low sigh.

"It seems everything is in order, Mr. Enjolras." Javert said through tight lips.

"So it does." Enjolras nodded, trying not to look too smug.

Javert stared him down. "If we here one more word of bootlegging in this club we will be back, mark my words, and we shall not wait for your doorman to let us in next time."

"Of course." Enjolras smiled, placing a hand on his back as he led the Inspector and his coppers out of the door. "See you around. You keep fighting crime, now."

Javert gave an angry growl, but Bahorel shut the door before another comment could be made. When they were sure they were gone, Enjolras let out a low whistle. Grantaire had went to the cellar and returned with the bottles that had been sent down there, and the extra bottles that had been lost. "That whiskey you wanted, boss." He handed the bottle to Enjolras. Enjolras nodded, opened the bottle and took a swig from it.

"Free drinks all round, I think." he grinned, starting to bring out new glasses and fill them on the bar.


End file.
